Interlude 5 - Mike, Matt, ?
Prolong the trial. That's what she'd said. But how the hell is Mike supposed to do that? He isn't some kind of magician; he can't wave a magic wand, end up in Hogwarts, defeat Voldemort and then return to find everything is perfectly right with the world. What did Sam really expect him to do? Flash his bits, causing the judge to faint into a temporary coma of conveniently one day?
Mike's already doomed. Today marks the day he's going to be declared guilt in front of a whole courtroom. And the rest of his life will be confined within four, cold, concrete wall.
Even the eyes of his lawyer are flickering with doubt. The spark has been simmering for a while now, beaten down by the prosecution. Even Mike's lawyer doesn't believe he'll go free.
Mike grits his teeth, his forehead creasing with the strain, as they stand behind the wide, wooden doors leading into the courtroom. In a minute, Mike will be escorted in by a guard and forced into his designated seat.
And his life will be fought over in front of his eyes.
Prolong the trial. Please.
If that was the only way he could win his own life, he was going to lunge for it with all his might.
Matt stirs sleeplessly. Empty. His head feels so hollow and empty, like a chunk of it has been taken out and never been replaced.
It's so uncomfortable, this bed. Itchy and irritating; no matter how many sheets of satin the nurses throw over him, it's still so... foreign. Alien.
He doesn't like the bed, doesn't like the room. He especially doesn't the old man next door who won't stop snoring.
Why hasn't Emily come yet? Is she pissed off at him? - She's pissed off at him, always pissed off at him. Does she know about Jessica? He feels sick; what the hell happened with Jessica?
Those two girls, always fighting over a guy; Mike or Matt.
They've got a thing for M's.
And, despite how much Matt hates to admit it, he has a thing for an Em too.
Why won't she come and visit him? Sleep calls for him. Why won't she...? His eyelids droop and soon he is captured. Silent. Asleep.
Distorted. His mind. Her sight.
Flickers of consciousness. Look at him. Reach out, touch him. Pull back. Shatter into nothingness.
Itching. One eye, always itching. Always irritating.
She hates bullets.
She hates death.
She hates not being seen.
Gather energy, reach forward, touch him. A spark! He jerks, she sizzles. And evaporates.